Molly sat and waited by the gate.

He was late.
He had promised to be back before bedtime
to tuck her in and kiss her
and read her a story or a nursery rhyme
or something of that sort.

She was holding a drawing.
She had drawn in that morning
at school.
A scribble with a tie held the hand
of a littler scribble, with a pink hair band
and a massive smile.

She waited a while,
but he still wasn't there.
She started to wonder if he even cared.
Time passed;
the sky grew dark; the air grew cold.
Mummy began to yell and scold
and demand answers down the phone.

Molly sat and cried by the gate.
It was late – far too late
for little Molly to still be awake.
She crumpled up the drawing,
put her head in her hands
and sobbed.

When around the corner and through the night
came blue flashing lights.
Mummy cried.
Molly cried.

Daddy died.